


Lie To Me (Baby, I Can Take It)

by ShellyFanFic



Category: SEAL Team (TV)
Genre: Angst, Breast cancer, Cancer, Deployment, F/M, Hiding Illness, Illness, Separation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-14
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-22 11:28:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30037998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShellyFanFic/pseuds/ShellyFanFic
Summary: What if there was more to Stella bailing than just the fear of 'that' phone call?
Relationships: Stella Baxter/Clay Spenser
Comments: 9
Kudos: 51





	Lie To Me (Baby, I Can Take It)

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger warning - mentions of cancer, specifically breast cancer. If this is something which may be triggering for you, proceed with caution.

Stella sat and sobbed as she watched Clay walk toward the C-17 with his shoulders slumped in defeat. She was sending him off to fight believing he’d already lost the biggest battle of all at home. Jason threw his arm around Clay and pulled him into one of those manly half-hug things they did, a quick fist-bump with Sonny, and none of them looked back.

This was now how she wanted this to go, couldn’t really be any further from it. She wanted Clay here by her side, wanted him to reassure her she was strong, and she could do this, to tell her that she would still be enough after all was said and done… but, what she wanted and what she needed were two very different things.

She needed him to be safe. She needed him to deploy with no distractions so that he and the team would be mission focussed. She needed him to come home in one piece so that he could help put her back together again. Her sole aim was to protect him. To achieve that she had to keep a secret from him; she _had_ to lie. Merely a lie of omission she told herself. Clearly In his best interests. Definitely, absolutely, totally the right thing to do. Unfortunately, she was always a really terrible liar.

The trouble was Clay knew her too well, knew her tells. Determined as he always was, he _had_ to get to the root of her anxiety, he just could not leave well enough alone and get on the damned plane. He kept on chipping away at her resolve and finally, _finally,_ she worked up the courage to just tell him. She took a deep readying breath… and then he started rambling on about the job, and it not being forever, this whole speech about how he had bigger dreams and a plan to progress his career.

He kept talking, trying to convince her that their future would be better than this. She shook her head, choked up. Nothing, she thought, was better than _this_ – the two of them here together in this moment. She almost begged him to stay, but the idea of any future at all was beyond her comprehension right now and the words died in her throat.

She knew it would slay him either way; somehow it seemed kinder to just go along with it being about his chosen career than to say the three little words, “I have cancer”.

XXX

Mexico was hell on earth, between the heat and the hurt it felt so oppressive that there were times Clay didn’t think he could breathe. With Bravo One still reeling from losing Alana and Adam in quick succession, Clay was the only one ballsy enough (or maybe bitter and stupid enough) to call him on his head not being in it. It had proved to be an unpopular stance and he felt like the team whipping boy afterwards, taking hits from every direction. Like he hadn’t taken enough of one already.

He knew he was probably a little out of line. Knew his attitude had been a little south of respectful lately. But hell, when the love of your life drops you like a stone with no warning, no explanation… that stings for a bit.

It took a few weeks of everyone barely tolerating his bullshit before Sonny figured it out. It was the photograph that did it. Usually, he kept the picture of Stella on display next to his bunk. This time it stayed tucked in the pocket of his pack, too painful to look at but too precious to discard. Sonny dragged him off base to get his head on straight, and over cheap Mexican beers and too many tequila shots Clay poured his heart out then threw his guts up.

Ray gave his ‘holier than thou’ lecture and then chewed Sonny out repeatedly for their little misadventure, made it perfectly clear that any further trips outside the wire were off the table. Clay made do with wallowing whenever Sonny would let him, then drowning his heartbroken ass in whatever liquor Lisa was able to get a hold of. The only nights he slept were when she managed to get her hands on the good stuff.

Clay felt like his life was in tatters. The team was cracking under the weight of carrying Jason’s losses, Ray’s guilt, and his insolence. He was floundering. He hated the cocky little shit he became when he felt insecure, but a lifetime of using it as cover for his pain meant that sometimes there was fuck all he could do to rein in it.

He showed up to get the job done so that everyone got to go home, but he wasn’t feeling the whole ‘team is family’ vibe right now. The irony. It was Adam who promised him team was all the family he would ever need, yet since he went and died it felt like they weren’t there for him at all. At least the discord assured him some time alone, so he didn’t have to always pretend to be okay.

Adam had been the one constant in his life. He and Victoria looked out for Clay when he was small. They kept in touch with Clay throughout his time with his grandparents, welcomed him home and helped him find a place when he came back stateside. Adam was the nearest thing Clay had ever had to a father, and the loss of his role model had hit him hard. Aside from Victoria, nobody knew the depth of what he was going through except for Stella, and now she’d left him too.

He spent every solitary moment dissecting their parting conversation, going over and over and over it, desperately looking for the missing piece. Sure, Stella had freaked out when he returned from Mumbai. Adam had been killed and his injury had been a close call – closer than he ever told her. She had hovered and mothered and slathered him in that rank old-lady-smelling ointment, but she handled it. They had spun up since then and she had been fine.

They had spoken at length about this deployment, talked about her fears and her waiting for ‘the call’. He had reassured her, or so he thought, that the first deployment was the worst, and that it would be easier to bear this time around. Turns out he’d never been more wrong.

At least it happened now, he reasoned. This could have been five years and a couple of kids down the line, and that would have been a whole mess of crap to figure out. 

XXX

Stella’s diagnosis had come when Clay was spun up between Mumbai and deployment. It had been a whirlwind of a week, from finding a lump when she showered, to a needle biopsy, to multiple diagnostic and staging appointments. CT, MRI, x-ray, ultrasound, bloodwork. You name it, she’d had it.

Next had come the treatment plan. She had been terrified, literally felt her blood pressure increasing as she walked unsteadily into her consult. By the time she had sat she heard nothing but the whooshing beat of her own heart. Her oncologist and the nursing staff were calm and patient, asked if she needed to call someone, then went through everything a second and third time to make sure that she had heard and understood.

When the words had begun to permeate, they were like flashes coming at her rapid-fire. Words like stage two and lymph node involvement, invasive, mastectomy. They hit her like physical blows, and she recalled wondering if that’s how Clay felt when he was being fired upon… when he’d been hit.

She had spent the whole time from diagnosis, right up to the point Clay walked away from her at the airstrip, sneaking to appointments and then trying desperately to find the words to tell him. The time or the place or the circumstances were always wrong… like there was ever going to be a good time or place or circumstance to say, “Hey babe, I’ve got breast cancer, I start chemo two days after you deploy” or “So, today I got my eggs harvested. How was work?”.

Naima had been a godsend and Stella thanked her lucky stars for the woman’s relentless hammering on the car window that day at the airstrip. Fortunately, Naima was as persistent as Stella was stubborn, and she succeeded where Clay had failed, dragging the diagnosis and whole sorry chain of events out of her before the team had even landed in Mexico. 

After Clay had gone Stella quickly lost all track of time, the weeks passing her by in a haze of nauseated heart break. The treatment made her feel sicker and weaker than she ever had in her life, but all she could think about was how much she missed him, wanted him, _needed_ him. Several times Trish and Naima had nagged, pleaded with her to call. She would not budge. What good would it do? Why put him, and by default the rest of the team, at risk?

She had a constant pit in her stomach. After her surgery and in the brief periods of respite between treatments, Stella's appetite did not return. It took her longer and longer after each round to recover any strength. The doctors put it down to the combined trauma of surgery and chemo, but Stella recognised it as her fearing for Clay. She had felt the same way last deployment. Already slender to begin with, the combination of treatment and terror meant the weight had just fallen off her. Naima had stocked her apartment with Powerade, smoothies and milkshakes to get fluids and easy calories into her.

Trish knew of her love of good coffee and pastries. Whenever it was her turn to drive Stella, she would show up with full-fat caramel latte with whipped cream and chocolate sprinkles, and a selection of baked goods to try and tempt her. It had worked up to the day Trish arrived with Clay’s favourite and then Stella wasn’t hungry anymore.

Consequently, her wound was healing incredibly slowly and midway through her post-op chemotherapy it had become infected. So, here she was seven weeks out from surgery and still swathed in bandages and dressings, having her recently re-inserted drain checked daily. On top of everything else she was having to drag herself to physical therapy twice a week, her doctors insisting she had a better range of motion back in her shoulder before she started radiation.

Her sixth and final planned round of treatment was underway, and today was rough. As she retched over the toilet her phone chimed with a message but she had left it on the nightstand, and the bedroom felt like such a long way away right now. Too tired to move she remained on the cold soothing tile and was glad she had done so as another round of vomiting ensued. Yesterday had been worse but she knew that tomorrow she would feel a little better - just in time for Trish to take her back for (fingers crossed) her final IV dose of chemo.

As she brought up the meagre contents of her stomach, she held back what little was left of her hair. She continued retching and gagging as the tears rolled down her sallow cheeks. Fuck, she wished Clay was here.

XXX

After a quick stop by the Bulkhead Clay had made his way home. He hadn’t really fancied the bar at all, but he needed to put in an appearance or Sonny would be on his case all night. He had ducked out early and managed to shop for groceries, change his linens, put the laundry on, shower and order pizza before he finally plopped down into his favourite armchair.

Stella’s shampoo and conditioner had still stood in his shower stall, and it had bothered him way more than he expected. As he looked around the apartment, he could see reminders of Stella everywhere. They left him feeling hollow. Decision made, he cracked a beer and went to the closet for a carton.

The pizza arrived and as he ate and drank, he sorted. Working through each room he packed everything that belonged to her, underwear and spare clothes from ‘her drawer’, shower gel, the offending shampoo and conditioner that smelled like delicious fresh gingerbread. He packed her toothbrush, the half-read book from his nightstand, photographs of the two of them. Anything that was hers, or a reminder of her, went in the box.

Her work satchel was still on the floor where it sat the morning he deployed, propped against the table leg. He thought it strange that she had not needed it, but he chose not to dwell on it, and set it down in the top of the box.

Next Clay cracked another beer and opened his messages. Three times he typed and then deleted a message to Stella. The first was passive-aggressive and petty, the second was too angry and raw - angrier than she deserved given how much he pushed her to tell him what was wrong. The third was plagued by Clay’s suspicion that there was something more going on and asked if Gordon had taken good care of her while he was gone.

That was the message that he almost sent.

Eventually he settled on short, simple, and emotionless. _I have a box of your stuff. Can you collect ASAP._

And then he cried.

XXX

It was close to an hour later that Stella had finished getting sick and finally found the energy to move from the bathroom floor to the bed. She reached for the blue Powerade Naima had placed on the nightstand, sipping it slowly. As she placed it back down, she saw her phone and remembered the text message. Expecting it be her Dad with his several-times-daily check in, she was both thrilled and devastated to see Clay’s name.

She opened the message expecting… she wasn’t really sure _what_ she was expecting. She hoped for something to let her know he was home safe, or that he missed her (wishful thinking). Clay wasn’t a nasty man, but he had every right to be angry with her. She thought that was a more likely reaction than friendly chit chat, and mentally braced herself for a tirade.

What she did not expect was the bland, cold request for her to collect her ‘stuff’ ASAP. It was so devoid of warmth, personality, emotion, of all things _Clay_ , that she knew in that instant that she had made a mistake in lying to him… that she had broken him.

For the first time she cursed herself for not being honest, for not believing in his strength of character and his loyalty; she regretted not giving him the opportunity to choose. As she thought about his childhood and abandonment issues the gravity of what she had done to him dawned on her. She was hit with the stark realisation that she had to tell him the truth as soon as she was strong enough.

She forced herself up and looked at the grim wall planner that had replaced her teaching schedule. Chemo tomorrow, a week of R & R, a week of daily physical therapy and then three weeks of radiation. She picked up her phone and typed a response.

XXX

Clay had sunk three more beers and a couple of shots of whisky after he broke down, and the deep sleep they induced meant that it was the next morning before he saw her text. He paused looking at the alert on his screen and wondered how she would have reacted to his message. Now he considered it in the cold (sober) light of day it was probably unnecessarily curt – just as he had been all deployment.

Her reply left him bewildered.

_Hi Clay, Glad you are home – hope everyone is safe and well? My schedule is kind of full for the next few weeks. I’d be appreciative if you could hang on to it for a while longer? Your Stella._

Wow. He ignored the strange and unnatural formality of it and instead scoffed at her audacity. _Your Stella._ The nerve of her! She stopped being _his_ Stella when she sent him into battle with a knife in his back. And just what, or who (Gordon) could she possibly be doing that had her too busy to swing by for the ‘next few weeks’?

Clay needed a clean break. He was both irritated and distressed by the mere sight of her belongings. It felt like they were taunting him, privy to a secret he didn’t know. The level of agitation was unbearable. He stomped and paced, took a beer from the fridge, looked at the time and put it back again. He thumbed the bunch of keys in his jeans pocket. It was no good, her things had to go now.

The drive to Stella’s place felt so much longer than he remembered. When he arrived at her apartment complex he made for her front door like he was running the o-course. He hoped that she wasn’t home. He wanted to be in and out quick so that he could move on with the rest of his life. Clay knocked and was relieved when he got no answer. He unlocked the door and was already starting to work her key off the ring before he had made it across the threshold. 

The sight that greeted him was not what he expected. The apartment was bizarre. It was spotlessly clean, even more so than usual. Stella was never dirty but the floors shined and everywhere smelled of disinfectant, yet there were mountains of seemingly random things piled everywhere.

Stella’s clothes were folded in neat piles on the dining table – it looked to be close to the entire contents of her closet. There were boxes all around with all sorts in them, photo albums and loose pictures spread out on the coffee table and cases of Powerade and smoothie cartons stacked next to the couch. Weird.

She seemed to be having a good clear out, decluttering and putting things in order. Some of the boxes were labelled goodwill, another with her Moms name on it. He wondered if she was moving sometime soon and if _this_ was maybe the thing keeping her busy.

Searching for a space to leave his carton Clay moved toward the breakfast bar. He set it down and was reaching for the message pad and pen she kept by the phone when the shock of colour caught his eye, the collection of orange pill bottles standing out in relief against the white pharmacy bags behind them on the counter.

Clay took a deep breath and looked around the apartment again. _Really_ looked, like the observant tier one operative he was supposed to be. Meds and dressings on the counter, drinks to aid rehydration and nourishment, the apparent clearing and cleaning of the apartment. There was something drastically wrong with this picture. His intense need to draw a line and move on with his life had suddenly begun to feel like a gross invasion of Stella’s privacy. Regardless, he had to know what was going on now. Was Stella caring for someone? Why wouldn’t she just tell him that?

Clay took a step closer. The pharmacy bags were full to the point of overflowing and contained waterproof dressings, bandages, wound care kits. And damn, if that didn’t pique his interest further. He couldn’t help himself. Clay fingered one of the pill bottles. Domperidone. STELLA BAXTER was stamped clearly on the label and he felt the ground dropping away beneath his feet. The next bottle was Cytoxan, STELLA BAXTER. There was Morphine, Amitriptyline, Tamoxifen, all stamped with Stella’s name.

He didn’t know what was happening here, but he knew that it was nothing good. Despite the many times Sonny had told him ‘google was his friend’ in these situations, Clay preferred a more old-fashioned, human approach with all things medical. He lined up the bottles, pulled out his mobile and hit speed dial four. “Trent? I need to know about some medications.”

XXX

Trish indicated and pulled onto Stella’s road. “Look, all I’m saying is the boys are home now. You know I will help you whenever you need me, but Naima is going to struggle to be around much without Ray figuring it out. And if Ray figures it out, well… you know what will happen next.”

Stella sighed and looked out of the window. “You’re right. I know you are. He texted me last night and… well I decided I’m going to tell him.”

“Wow. _He_ texted _you_? How did that go?”

“It was short and sweet. Classic one liner… kind of a “get your stuff out of my life, NOW” type of message. That’s when I realised what this must have done to him, realised that I have to tell him.” Stella stifled a yawn as her stomach growled loudly. “I asked him to hang on to my stuff for a while, but I think I need to see him sooner rather than later. I guess I’ll give it a week to get through this and I’ll ask him over for coffee.”

Trish nodded her agreement. “Well, if you need moral support… you know you only need to ask, right? Will you let me fix you something to eat before you go to bed, please?”

“I could eat something small. I still have some of Naima’s broth left over. I can warm that up for myself, you don’t need to waste any more of your time on me.”

Trish pulled the car into the lot and put it in to park as near to Stella’s apartment as she could get. “Stella please, it’s no trouble to come up and help you out. You are exhausted. And you are _not_ a waste of my time.”

Stella started to protest but realised it was too late. Trish was already out of the car and walking around to open her door for her. “Come on, Stella. Last chemo done, you’re nearly at the end now. We’ve got you.” She took Stella’s frail hand and heaved her up and out of the car. “I’m at least walking you up, okay.”

“Doesn’t look like I have a choice in the matter” Stella grumbled as she took Trish’s arm.

When they got to the apartment Stella was ready to drop. Trish kept a hold of her and used her spare key to unlock the door, kicking it open as she guided Stella in and towards the couch. “Come on, you get settled - you can get to work on a Powerade while I warm up the-“

The sharp intake of breath made Stella turn to see what had stopped Trish mid-sentence and in her exhausted state she stumbled backwards over one of the goodwill cartons. Trish made a grab for her, but she was too far away and Stella was falling.

Stella had wrapped her arms around herself and screwed her eyes shut, more concerned with bracing for impact than breaking her inevitable fall. Only the impact never came. Instead, she was wrapped in a warm embrace and gently lowered into the comfort of the couch. As she relaxed and opened her eyes she was greeted by the sight of her beautiful man. He was battered and bruised; his eyes red rimmed and his hair dishevelled like he’d been pulling at it. Regardless, he was the most welcome sight she had ever laid eyes upon.

As a single tear tracked its way down her face, he wiped it away gently and said, “Hey Stell.”

XXX

Thankful as Clay usually was for Trent’s less than subtle approach, today it had backfired and hit him like a wrecking ball. He knew something serious was happening, but he was totally unprepared when Trent calmly said, “I'm really sorry kiddo, those are cancer drugs.”

As his knees gave out and the floor came rushing to meet him, he could hear Trent asking if he was okay… did he need someone to come be with him… who were the meds for… where was he. Metal was in the background asking Trent who had cancer meds. It took a minute for Clay to gather his wits enough to formulate an answer. “Trent? I’m… I’ll be okay, bye.” Trent had still been throwing questions at him when he hung up and he was sure it was only a matter of time before Sonny or Jason called him.

He sat in a heap on the floor for who knows how long, reflecting on every look, every conversation, any sign that he could or should have known about this. When he came up empty he cried and yelled and kicked and punched like a kid having a tantrum until the pain and wetness of his knuckles told him that the hardwood floor had gotten the better of him. Still, he only made to get up when his full bladder would no longer be ignored.

After he relieved himself and washed his bloodied hands he looked in the mirror. Bruising was still evident on his left cheek and jaw line, along with a few small cuts and abrasions from the ambush in Mexico, and he had dark bags beneath his eyes from the long months of not sleeping properly. His initial thought that he looked a complete mess was pushed to the back of his mind when he noticed the wall planner reflected behind him.

As he examined the calendar he got a blow-by-blow timeline of Stella’s treatment regimen. The pre-op chemo that had commenced just two days after he left, the mastectomy that took place the same date he got roasted for going outside of the wire to drown his sorrows, the subsequent chemo, check-ups, PT, dressing changes, meds schedules. Everything she had been going through alone while he thought _he_ was the one suffering, was documented right here in front of him.

A check of todays’ date revealed that she was getting her last dose of IV chemotherapy right now. He thought maybe he should pick her up, wondered momentarily how she had been managing by herself. A closer inspection of the planner showed him that Naima, Trish, occasionally Victoria Seaver and even Gina Blackburn had been helping out with meals and appointments and seemed to have a rota system in place for checking in on her, and all of them had kept her secret.

He knew that just a few short months ago Alana Hayes’ name would have been front and centre on there too, and in a moment of clarity he could forgive Jason for not having his head on straight. How _he_ felt right now must pale in comparison, yet he was struggling to keep it anywhere close to ‘together’. He had no idea how bad this was, what the prognosis was, whether Stella was doing well or quietly dying without his knowledge.

He felt sick to his stomach at the thought of it, couldn’t take the uncertainty. He contemplated calling Naima or Vicky but he didn’t know how well received he would be once he told them how he knew.

Eventually he snapped himself out of it, his training ingrained. _Ignore and override_. He cleaned up the mess on the hardwood floor and took a seat at the breakfast bar. The planner said it was a nine AM appointment, and it was almost midday now so figuring she would be back soon he settled in to do some research.

His phone was going crazy by 1pm but he really didn’t want to speak to anyone. He settled for firing off a group text to the team to say that he was okay but busy and asking them not to hassle him. He placed one call, directly to Blackburn and requested that he be stood down for a few days while he got to grips with everything.

It was around ten minutes later that he heard a key in the door and then everything seemed to happen in slow motion. Stella looked so frail and delicate, Trish guiding her through the door and then just a moment later she was falling. He was up and moving on instinct as he vaulted the breakfast bar and the next thing he knew she was in his arms. She felt so small and fragile, like if he handled her too roughly, she might break. She was pale and drawn and painfully thin. Still, she was stunning. His brave, beautiful angel.

He had no idea how to start or what to say. _Keep it simple, stupid._ “Hey Stell”.

XXX 

Those two words were enough to turn her single tear to full on bawling. She threw an arm around the back of his neck, buried her head in his chest and clung on for dear life. Clay just went with it, quietly observed by Trish who was moving around the kitchen and heating something on the stove. She placed a steaming mug on the side table and left, closing the door behind her quietly. 

When he couldn’t take it any longer, he pulled away and lifted Stella’s chin so that he could see her face. He planted a gentle kiss on her forehead and wiped her eyes. He started talking to her low and quiet like she was a wild animal he was trying not to spook.

“Stella, you don’t have to hide from me. I know what’s going on, babe. I’ve seen the meds and I’ve seen the planner. Baby, I’m so sorry I wasn’t here for you. But I am _so fucking angry_ that you didn’t let me share this burden with you, Stell.”

Stella nodded at him wordlessly, tears still running down her face. He stroked her cheek, wiping her tears aside, and kissed her head again. “Look, I think I get it, okay? The timing was shitty. I mean, there’s never a good time, right? But I understand.”

She drew in a shaky breath. “I just wanted to protect you. I love you more than life, Clay. This happened right before deployment and I just needed to keep you safe. I didn’t want you distracted by what was going on with me. I didn’t want to be responsible for anyone not making it home.”

“Hey, look at me.” She reluctantly met his eyes. “I appreciate the sentiment, I really do. But you don’t get to pull that shit, okay? You don’t get to lie to me ever again. And for the record, I was just as distracted by you leaving me. And I was an asshole to my teammates. We both suffered way more that we needed to and… you took away my reason to come home, Stell.”

Stella began to cry again. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I never meant to do that. I never meant for any of this. I tried so hard to tell you. I tried before you left, at the airstrip, I just could never find the words. And for the longest time, all I’ve wished is for you to be here and holding me.”

“I’m here now; I will hold you for as long as you need. Whatever you’re going through you tell me, okay? I have broad enough shoulders for the both of us, Stell. I promise baby, I can take it.”


End file.
